chapter 19: Lunch Break Showdown — Deshawn's Watching Again
POV: Zai
Lunch was raucous as usual.
The cafeteria buzzed with half-eaten lunches, half-finished homework, and full-blown gossip. I sat by the corner window, to myself, poking at greasy fries while Marcus—Mac-Zero, system-born troublemaker in jeans and tank top—sat in front of me, unpeeling an orange like a monk in meditation.
But I could feel it.
That weight.
Eyes on my back.
I didn't have to look to know who it was.
Deshawn.
Ever since the fight—if you could even describe it as such—he'd been acting. differently. Quietly. Staring at me sideways like I was somehow quietly concealing a loaded gun in my hoodie.
He hadn't said a word since the day I dropped a fireball and edge recovered like something out of a video game.
He thought I had powers.
And he was correct. only not in the way that he believed.
He finally acted.
Tray, Malik, and Dre closing in on him like he was some sort of mob conference. They all moved in on our table like they were the owners, but their manner said otherwise. Tense. Unsure.
Deshawn went first.
"You. ain't normal, Zai," he declared, voice slightly lower than usual. "What you did the other day. that wasn't just fighting."
I said nothing. Simply took a drink of juice.
"I saw it. We all saw it," he went on, his eyes tightening. "That wasn't just hands. That was something else. Ain't no ordinary kid spit fire from his hands and jump off air like it's a trampoline."
"You got a point?" I asked evenly.
Malik stepped forward. "Yeah. We want to know what you are."
That was when Marcus stood up.
No speech. No braggadocio.
He simply stood.
Every one of them flinched—all three of them—like the tug of a pin on a grenade.
Deshawn's hand shook at his side.
Marcus leaned in close, glaring at him straight into the eyes. "Master Zai showed you mercy once. You dishonor it again, we can sneak behind the school and recount how many bones your pride is worth."
Dre, trying to be hard, laughed. "Man, who is even you—"
Marcus's eyes flashed to him. "Let's talk."
10 minutes later – Boys' Bathroom
I didn't follow them.
Didn't have to.
Marcus came back into the lunchroom alone, his usual calm, cracking his knuckles and wiping them clean on a piece of brown paper. A red stream ran down the edge of his hand, dripping onto the floor before he folded the towel up neatly and disposed of it.
He stood up and sat down again like nothing had occurred.
"Handled," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't murder him, did you?"
"No," Marcus said. "Merely rearranged his perception."
Some minutes later, Dre stumbled into the cafeteria, hoodie halfway yanked off, lip busted open, eyes large as if he saw the end credits of life. Didn't say a word. Just grabbed his bag and split.
Deshawn and the rest gazed speechlessly.
Didn't move near me again.
Didn't say another word.
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Threat Level: Local – Minimized
Deshawn's Group: Status – Demoralized
+1% Sync Bond with Mac-Zero
+2% System XP for intimidation-based resolution
I settled back in my chair, a quiet smile creasing.
Let them guess.
Let them tremble.
This was merely Level 6.
And I had only begun.